


The Champion of Thedas

by autopilot_disengaged



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autopilot_disengaged/pseuds/autopilot_disengaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Conclave is in ruins, Justinia dead along with her plan to create peace between Mages and Templars. Varric isn't even surprised that Hawke is in the middle of it.<br/>AU where Hawke is marked with the anchor and becomes Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> It's been.... A while since I've written. About a year? This is mostly exercise to remind my brain how to make words work.

     No one could ever say there was a dull moment with Hawke. Well, they could, but it would be a lie. After all of the shit that had happened in Kirkwall, Varric wasn’t in the least surprised to find that Hawke was in the middle of another mess again.

     When Cassandra arrived with her at the rift, they both looked worse for wear. The two were covered in bruises, Cassandra bleeding through a cut on her leg and Hawke’s mage armour soaked in deep crimson, the remains of health potions drying around her lips. She was so tired, drained of her natural magical resources that she didn’t even see her dwarven friend, an impressive feat considering Varric’s uniquely loud fashion choices. Despite her fatigue, she started hurling fire and ice at the demons around the rift. That was Hawke, always willing to fight, even if she killed herself in the process (and she had died quite a few times back in Kirkwall, thank the Maker Blondie wasn’t so crazy he couldn’t heal her).

     Once the demons had been vanquished, the elven apostate, Solas, wasted no time in grapping her hand and pushing it up towards the rift. Varric could see Hawke was in pain – she bit her cheeks when she muffled screams, a habit never grown out of – and he was almost ready to let Bianca snap at the elf a little until he realised the rift was closed, and Hawke was bleeding and panting, but otherwise pretty much alive.

     “How did you do that?” Hawke questioned, bewilderment creasing her brow. Solas shook his head, shifting on his feet.

     “I did nothing. The credit is yours. Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorised the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the breaches wake – and it seems I was correct.”

     “Meaning it could also close the breach itself…” Cassandra concluded.

     Hawke looked down at her hand, staring at the dormant mark that had glowed and crackled only a few moments ago. “So,” she said finally, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “the mark is good for more than just making Fenris jealous. We should have a tattoo competition. What’s reaching through someone’s chest and squishing their heart compared to closing a demon portal?”

     “Good to know it does more than sparkle.” Varric cut in, brushing non-existent dust from his silk shirt. “Here I was thinking we’d be ass deep in demons forever.”

     He kept his expression relaxed, but even he couldn’t deny to himself that his pulse was rushing quicker than usual, adrenaline at the very sight of his friend cutting through the chill of the snowy mountain air. How long had it been since he’d seen Hawke? Around four years, he was sure, but it felt like an eternity. And now here she was, somehow placing herself right in the middle of another mess. At least this time, she was back home in Ferelden. It was easy to forget the Champion was a Dog Lord sometimes.

     Much to Varric’s disappointment, Hawke doesn’t look surprised or confused to see him, smiling easily instead, taking a moment to think of what she’ll quip back to him. For a moment, it’s almost like they’re back in Kirkwall, sitting in the Hanged Man.

     “I would almost say you’re stalking me, if I didn’t know for a fact that you are.” She jokes with a grin. Varric deigns to look offended, folding Bianca and tucking her securely into the harness on his back.

     “I believe it was you who told me you’d cry yourself to sleep every night without me.”

     “Oh, you should see the state of my pillow. I don’t know if it will ever be dry.”

     “If you two are quite done?” Cassandra interrupted. The Champion only laughed while Varric walked over to Hawke’s side, where he belonged. He wanted to hug her, Andraste’s ass, he did, but instead he placed a large and gentle hand on her shoulder. Hawke was tense, most likely from the pain of battle wounds and whatever was on her hand. She smiled at Varric, placing her own hand on his, then looked up at Cassandra.

     “Sorry, who were you again? I didn’t quite catch that, I was too busy reeling from your violent questioning.”

     Varric hummed in agreement, giving Hawke an understanding look. “She stabbed me in the book, did I tell you?”

     “Only about twelve times.”

     “It was a very traumatic moment for me.”

     Cassandra made a disgusted noise at their banter, crossing her arms. “I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine.”

     The elven apostate stepped forward. “I am Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased that you still live.”

     “He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’” Varric translated humorously, never one to miss an opportunity to showcase his wit. Hawke’s grin widened.

     “Almost died again, did I? I’m making that a bit of a habit. Thank the Maker we had an expert. Know a lot about the mark then, do you?”

     “Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra explained. “Well-versed on such matters.”

     “Technically all mages are apostates now, Cassandra.” Solas replied calmly. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any circle mage.”

     Hawke looked down at Varric, rolling her eyes. “He’s a dreamer, isn’t he? That worked out so well for us last time. You remember that Varric, when you betrayed me because you were jealous of your brother?”

     “I thought we were going to let that go… I was a dwarf in the Fade where I didn’t belong, and it was a _lot_ of money. I promise I’ll be much better company when we get to the valley, Hawke.”

     “Absolutely not.” Cassandra said firmly. The two looked to her as she slowly advanced toward Varric, posture aggressive and eyes glinting with disdain. She stood over him, sighing exasperatedly. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

     “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

     Varric's smile was smug, but the challenge was evident in his voice to all present. There was absolutely no way Varric would back down from this without a fight, wherever Hawke went, Varric went too. Their eyes locked, breaking apart after a few tense moments as Cassandra scoffed disgustedly and turned her back to speak with Solas. Varric winked at Hawke, who put an arm around his shoulders.

     “It was never really up for debate anyway. I’d never do anything without my trusty dwarf to recount my tale.”

     “Not even save the whole world?”

     “Ahh… maybe I’d do that, but I’d complain about it a lot.”

     “We must get to the forward camp quickly.” Cassandra announced, turning towards them. “Leliana is there speaking with Chancellor Roderick.” She eyes Hawke critically or a moment before adding “It would probably be best if you did not speak to him. I don’t think your… humour will go down smoothly.”

     She spins on her heel, leading the way without looking back to see if the three are following her. Solas follows close behind, acting every bit the elven apostate too scared to risk the wrath of a Templar. Only compared to a Templar, Cassandra could be classed as ‘merciful’. Varric shrugs, pulling his crossbow from his back as he and Hawke start their journey down the mountain.

     “Well… Bianca’s excited.”


	2. The Mark of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was mostly a filler chapter so I could get more used to the dialogue (thank you Robert for letting me know it was a bit stiff, I thought it was :P )  
> If you couldn't tell it's going to be a long, slow fic.

     For all the airs of disgust and annoyance Cassandra put on, she questioned Hawke avidly, almost excitedly, at the beginning of their journey. In between fighting demons, she barely left Hawke the time to catch her breath.

     “Is it true? Did you truly defeat the Arishok in single combat?”

     “I did. What a pain that was, running around until he got tired. Thank the Maker I learned ice magic or I’d have been hit one too many times.”

     Cassandra scowled at the dwarf. “How curious. Varric’s description of the battle made it seem far more interesting than you say.”

     Varric loaded his bolts into Bianca nonchalantly, shrugging. “Artistic licence. ‘The Champion and the Arishok battled for hours, through explosions and storms’ is a little more interesting than ‘Hawke ran in circles like a coward’. Technically, I didn’t lie. I just… embellished the story a little.”

     “I did not run like a coward! I ran like a _mage_. Big difference.”

     Cassandra tried to continue her questioning unsuccessfully: each time she did her queries only served to remind her and Varric of an adventure back in Kirkwall. Even Solas tried to engage the mage in discussions of magic and the Fade, but the Champion only had ears for her friend. Their conversations were loud and exuberant, filled with a special kind of laughter than crinkled the corners of their eyes and attracted wave after wave of demons. Cassandra admonished them for being so loud, but rather than swapping stories, they would simply look at each other and snicker, making her grind her teeth in frustration.

     They had just reached the path leading up to the Forward Camp, after pillaging a burning house at Hawke’s request because ‘ _you never know what you’ll find’_ when the mark on her hand burst into life, flaring and snapping angrily as it slowly creeped further up Hawke’s hand. Varric watched as she tensed, biting the insides of her cheeks while her arm spasmed against the unwelcome feeling. He was already holding onto her free arm to steady her before she had the chance to fall, carefree smile replaced with a worried frown that plagued his features.

     “Shit, are you alright?” He asked, looking at the fading mark with concern. Hawke beamed at him, but he could see the tightness of her eyes and hear the unsteadiness of her breath.

     “I’m fine, Varric. I was stabbed by a giant Qunari with a bigger sword, a little firework going off inside my hand won’t kill me.”

     Varric chuckled, waiting until he was sure Hawke was steady to let go of her arm. She rested her hand on his shoulder thankfully, then reached down to pick up her staff. “Look at this thing!” she cried, as if she hadn’t been in pain moments ago. “It’s just a stick!”

     “I think the locals call them staffs, stick’s probably an offensive term.”

     “You’re not understanding me Varric, it’s just a stick. Where’s the blade? What do I do if something gets close? Bop them on the head and say ‘go away please’?”

     “Mages should not rely on weapons.” Solas remarked. “The natural flow of magic should be finely tuned to respond to any situation, be it pushing an enemy back or-”

     Hawke cut him off with a long and unsatisfied groan. “I feel like I’m being lectured. He’s a barrel of laughs, isn’t he?”

     “Now now, Hawke, play nice. You apostates need to stick together, after all.”

     Hawke looked to her side to congratulate Varric on making the worst (and granted, the only) stick pun she’d ever heard, when her mark brightened again, a rift opening in front of them. She and Varric had their weapons ready and settled into position before Cassandra and Solas had even begun to react. “Looks like Shades,” Varric commented, Bianca shooting rapidly.

     “Were they Shades,” asked Hawke as she let an explosion of fire engulf a group getting too close to the Seeker. “Or were they demons? Or are Shades and demons the same thing, I can never really tell…”

     One of the demons turned from Cassandra, fixing its gaze on Hawke and setting toward her with unbreakable determination. She grimaced as it advanced, casting walls of ice that only seem to annoy it, doing nothing to slow it down. Instinct took over as she raised the staff above her head, swinging it down. Instead of the familiar feel of metal slicing through flesh, there was hard resistance that stopped her swing prematurely with a comical thunk.

     “Stupid, lousy, worthless, Maker-forsaken stick… Ah, go away please?”

     The staff was knocked from her hand, sent tumbling too far for her to recover. She could only stare in horror as the demon swiped for her face. Before its hand could hit her, a bolt lodged itself into its palm. The demon let out a shriek as several more bolts followed, sticking into its eyes, chest, neck, eventually proving too much and reducing it to dust. Varric held Bianca in one hand and Hawke’s staff in the other, twirling it expertly over his head, the staff being too tall for him to show off properly.

     “And once again, the Champion is saved by a humble dwarf. Some things never change.”

     Hawke took the staff from Varric, tapping him lightly on the head with it. “Enjoy the feeling while you can. If I remember, I was the one covering your ass back in Kirkwall.”

     They were quiet for a while, glancing at each other awkwardly between helping the rest of their party to battle the stragglers. Varric had been wondering who’d say it first. The word felt less like home nowadays and more like a curse, or maybe the feeling of looking down into your drink when you get to the end and seeing something gross was floating in it the whole time. Wrong, that was the word he was looking for. Sometimes he wonders how he ever got published. The point was, while it felt fine to talk about all the shit that happened in Kirkwall, actually _saying_ ‘back in Kirkwall’ made it all feel too real.

     When the last of the demons had been defeated, Hawke raised her hand to the rift, shutting it quickly and painfully. She didn’t flinch this time, more used to the feeling of the mark forcing itself open and pulling further apart. A quick glance showed her it had already reached her wrist, and she had a feeling it would only be getting worse from here.

     “We’re safe, for the moment.” Solas told her, opening the gates to the Forward Camp. It wasn’t lost on he and Cassandra that neither Hawke nor Varric had a snarky or humorous reply. The Seeker opened her mouth to comment, but Solas placed a hand on her arm cautiously, shaking his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I'm bitter about the staffs in Inquisition yet? Is it obvious enough? Also, we don't talk about Kirkwall. First rule of Kirkwall.


	3. The Mountain Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm getting back into it. Scribble with the pen until all the gunk is cleared away and the ink runs smooth. I'll be better in later chapters.

     “Can you believe this asshole?”

     They’d reached the Forward Camp significantly bloodier than they’d started. Somewhere in their fighting, Solas had broken his leg, but after swallowing a health potion and tossing the glass aside, he pulled through the pain. Hawke had used a lot of her magic healing them rather than fighting. The strain of overworking herself was pushing down on her, something Varric had commented on to the Seeker who argued that it clearly wasn’t too straining for her since her tongue was as quick as ever. He decided to keep to himself that Hawke had a habit of hiding pain with humour.

     The camp was filled with soldiers still shaken about the Conclave. Heavy snow and the gloomy grey did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. Everyone’s mood matched the conditions perfectly, it was like these people had developed a sudden allergy to smiling. Glares were thrown the Champion’s way, accusations whispered under their breaths, but she was distracted.

     Hawke watched the Grand Chancellor and Leliana as they argued about who was to blame for the Conclave and the Rift, a futile exercise in her mind since no one actually knew what happened, so it was a little impossible to point fingers. It didn’t look like their fight would end any time soon. The spymaster didn’t seem the type to back down, and while Roderick’s bark was impressive (if annoying), his bite seemed to be lacking, along with –

     “… his position” Varric finished. Hawke looked down at him.

     “That’s creepy, don’t finish my thoughts like that.” She snapped. Varric grinned.

     “Hawke growled at her great and handsome friend, aggravated at her own predictability.”

     “Are you narrating me again? Really?”

     “She asked, forgetting completely that she was meant to be going to the Temple instead of continuing her hobby of swooning over her favourite dwarf.”

     Cassandra scoffed, grabbing Hawke’s shoulder and pulling her up to the bickering Chantry members. Hawke tried to protest, but a quick glare from the Seeker silenced her, leaving her to throw a withering glance at Varric when he made a whipping noise. Leliana looked over at the two, nodding to Cassandra who seemed relieved that the Left Hand was safe and well.

     “Chancellor Roderick. This is-”

     “I _know_ who she is.” Roderick interrupted haughtily. The disgusted scowl he directed at Hawke seemed intense enough that even the richest and proudest of Orlesians would feel less than the dirt beneath his feet. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!”

     Hawke smiled, an action that made Roderick’s face turn red with barely supressed rage. “He wants to kill me already? But I haven’t even said anything yet. This is a new record for me.”

     “The Champion, who I am quite certain I told to keep quiet,” Cassandra said, throwing another glare at Hawke, “is not a criminal, nor did she kill the Divine. There’s no way.”

     “I think your case of hero worship clouds your judgement, Seeker. How else could she have been the only one to survive the Conclave? It’s not as if she hasn’t been involved in Chantry-related explosions before.”

     Dammit, Blondie.

     Varric knew this would go sour quickly. This was exactly why he didn’t tell the Seeker where Hawke was, and why he told Hawke not to go follow up on her lead. For all intents and purposes, she should have died during the explosion, along with the rest of the mages, Templars and the Divine. But here she was unscathed. Well, for the most part. It didn’t seem like she remembered why she went to the conclave in the first place, or if she did she had neglected to inform the Seeker. Maybe he should mention something, but if Hawke was keeping it quiet, he didn’t want to blow her cover. Not to mention Cassandra would realise he’d been bullshitting her the whole time. Was getting his nose broken again worth the risk?

     Probably not.

     “What do you think, Varric?”

     Hawke’s question brought him back down to earth. He blinked a few times, looking from Hawke to Cassandra, then to Solas, who raised an eyebrow, and back to Hawke. She snickered. “You _were_ listening, right?”

     “Of course I was. But just to test whether you’re paying attention, as you’re inclined to not do, what was the question again?”

     “We have two options. We can charge with the soldiers into the rift, and probably die. Or we can take the mountain path a whole squad was lost on, and probably die.”

     Varric chuckled, fixing the way the gloves sat on his wrists. “In the option of two deaths, I’d have to recommend the one that involves less of nature. You know how I feel about living things near me.”

     “Mountain path it is.” Hawke announced, pulling out her staff and dragging Cassandra behind her with a wicked grin. Roderick yelled something after them, but no one really cared to listen to him anymore. Better to leave him to Leliana, Varric thought. She seemed less likely to kill him.

     They set out into the snow, chill settling over them as they began their trek uphill into the mountains. Once the dwarf caught up with Hawke, he nudged her arm, gesturing to indicate they needed to talk privately. She nodded, throwing a casual glance behind them to see that Cassandra and Solas were busy talking.

     “We don’t have long,” she whispered. “Make it quick.”

     “Do you remember why you were at the Conclave in the first place?”

     Hawke bit her lower lip thoughtfully and shook her head, letting stray strands of black hair fall into her eyes. “I’ve tried, but I don’t remember why I was there. Something to do with the Divine? Maybe I wanted a vacation?”

     “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I thought.” Varric sighed. “Shit, I’ll have to tell you once we get out of here and have a moment to ourselves without the Seeker breathing down our necks.”

     “A moment to ourselves, Master Tethras? How scandalous.”

     “Should I then refrain from suggesting we speak in your room?” he asked with a smug smile. Hawke looked down at him with lidded eyes, her smirk coy and enticing, almost challenging.

     “If we speak privately in my room, I doubt we’ll be doing much talking.” She practically purred.

     Evil woman. Varric contemplated covering Bianca’s ears until he felt Cassandra’s domineering presence behind him, her eyes drilling holes into his back. “I _trust_ your whispering has a good reason?” she hissed. Hawke covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, spinning her staff in a care-free manner.

     "Kirkwall business, Seeker. Trust me, you wouldn't want to know."


	4. Path of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the chapter flowed easily and quickly, but as I kept writing and moved away from Varric's mind, it felt like the words were trying to work against me. But I'm getting the hang of it, very slowly. Hopefully after the next chapter things will pick up. I don't think I fully understood what I was creating when I started, but I determined to see it through to the end.

     Varric had forgotten just how much he really, _really_ hated caves.

     His legs ached from their hike up into the mountains, and his arms weren’t faring much better from their long ladder climbs. Shit, even his back hurt from carrying Bianca for hours on end, not that he’d ever admit that. And the cherry on top of it all was the Demon infested cave systems they were travelling through that felt too similar to the Deep Roads for his comfort. It didn’t help that somewhere in the back of his mind, no matter how much he told himself it was in his head, he could hear the singing.

     The quiet song was like an itch that just couldn’t be reached no matter what angle you tried to scratch it from. Ignoring it just made him irritable and listening made his head hurt, but it was unmistakably red lyrium. Maybe he’d been spending too long studying that damn idol before Cassandra dragged him off to see the Divine.

     Unless it had spread. There was an idea he really didn’t need.

     Varric looked to Hawke, his head tilting and turning into an angle that felt comfortable and familiar. She was covered head to toe in demon blood, engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion with Solas about the benefits and drawbacks of magic without a staff – _A staff provides the proper focus, allowing you to channel your energy to a far more defined and powerful degree… That’s all well and good, but if your staff is knocked out of your hand, say by a demon because you didn’t have a blade on the end, then without knowing how to cast staffless you’re going to be considerably more bloody… And risk being struck down where you stand as a blood mage?..._

     His focus drifted in and out, trying to put words to their expressions, mannerisms, voices. All his thoughts kept getting drowned by that damn song, which only got louder the further they travelled. The waves of relief he felt when they finally left the mines, fresh air hitting his lungs hard and sweet. He was so caught up in the ecstasy of a second without the song he almost jumped when Hawke gripped his arm, pulling him back a step and preventing him from stepping on a body at his feet. He shot her a grateful smile, then crouched down near one of them, searching over the corpse’s armour.

     “These must be the missing soldiers Leliana told us about.”

     Cassandra’s gaze was stern, but the crease of concern in her eyes was evident. “That can’t possibly be all of them.” She muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. Varric stood back up, smoothing out his coat.

     “Then the others might still be alive. We should look for them.”

     “Closing the breach is our highest priority.” Solas interjected. The comment earned him a glare from everyone present, but not even four angry sets of eyes upon him could shake his stony resolve. Hawke was the first to break the silence.

     “It’s not like the breach is getting any worse. Or it could be, but not in the time it would take us to find a few scouts. Besides, the bigger the mark gets, the more I can boast about it. Hey, Varric, how about the mark should have ripped me in half, but sheer willpower let me keep myself whole?”

     “No one’s going to believe that, Hawke. You have no willpower.”

     “Please! Name _one_ time where I haven’t shown the true extent of my willpower.”

     “You willingly bought Bone Pit.”

     Hawke opened her mouth to say something, then bit her lip. “Okay, fair point… The bottom line is, the breach can wait a few minutes while we save some lives.” Her tone of voice was firm enough that Solas knew better than to argue.

     As they continued down the path, Hawke could hear the sounds of fighting. Her pace picked up until she was sprinting down the mountain to the small rift, readying her staff. A group of scouts in leather armour too soft for a real fight were being swarmed by demons pouring seemingly endlessly from the crack in the sky. They were armed with bows and daggers, clearly not prepared for the close combat they were being forced into.

     Solas conjured a barrier over her as the demons’ attention shifted. Before she could summon a wall of ice to freeze them in place, Cassandra was in front of her, swinging her sword with practiced precision, drawing all attention to her and away from the champion. In that moment, Hawke could’ve easily mistook her for Aveline.

     Their teamwork meant that the creatures were killed quickly, giving the scouts the room to breathe and move back from the rift to tend to their wounds. Hawke raised her arm to seal the rift, ignoring the pain that came with it pulling further apart. Each time she did it, it got easier. Solas as well must have noticed this, because he nodded his approval with a slight smile.

     “Sealed, as before. You’re becoming quite proficient at this.”

     “Let’s just hope it works on the big one.” Varric muttered. Hawke chuckled, but was interrupted by one of the soldiers before she could start another round of banter.

     “Lady Cassandra. And…” Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open slightly once she got a better look at who had sealed the rift. “the Champion of Kirkwall! We’re in your debt.” A fist placed to her heart, she bowed respectfully. Neither the champion nor the Seeker seemed comfortable with her reverence, glancing awkwardly at each other out of the corner of their eyes.

     “Not at all.” Hawke joked easily waving her hand in a dismissive manner. “Saving people from their impending doom is a hobby of mine. Speaking of which, we should probably do something about the sky now. Is the temple far from here, Cassandra?”

     Cassandra shook her head, sheathing her sword and turning on her heel to lead the party back down the mountain path. “We’re close. With any luck, Leliana will already be waiting for us there. I just hope that closing the rift won’t kill you.”

     “Kill me? I’m sure I’ve suffered worse than mending the sky.”

     “That’s not what I mean.” Cassandra dropped her voice low, speaking quietly so that neither Varric nor Solas would listen in. “Its been getting worse, hasn’t it? The mark on your hand. It spreads each time you close a rift.”

     “Noticed that, did you? It’s less expensive than paying for a tattoo, that’s for sure.”

     “Hawke. Take this seriously. Right now, you are our only hope for restoring peace and saving Thedas.”

     Hawke looked down at the ground, hands tightening around her staff, gripping the wood so hard her knuckles turned an off white. Quips sat on the tip of her tongue, but her mouth refused to let her speak. The mark on her hand burned dully, as if to re-enforce Cassandra’s words. She didn’t say another word until they arrived at the temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It must be hard for Hawke, 10 years after Kirkwall without seeing her friends and suddenly she's forced into a hero role rather than taking it, with the weight of death hanging over her shoulders.  
> I have a big test coming up for uni so the next chapter may take a while. Bare with me.


End file.
